


Folie à deux

by reclav



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, Jealousy, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25781338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reclav/pseuds/reclav
Summary: Janus Hassildor shies away from the limit- Vicente Valtieri pushes the envelope. What happens when they take it too far?
Relationships: Janus Hassildor & Vicente Valtieri
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of "Opium and Poison"- I want them to kiss at least once here before they stop being dumb. I don't know how often I'll update this fic, but im enjoying the process so far!  
> Pallas is my HoK, he won't be super important in this story, but maybe i'll write something about him and Vicente in a non-AU setting later :^)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 1/23/21: rewrite of chapter 1 complete!

The alchemist unpacks his belongings with quick, practiced movements, the expertise of a man who has perfected his craft all his life, perhaps longer.

Janus doesn't know how this keeps happening to him. Skingrad seems to have become a hotbed for vampires, and now, with his court alchemist being a  _ vampire… _ .

Something something, the nobility sucking us dry, he can see it nailed to the chapel wall now.

He rubs his temples and groans quietly.

"Would you like me to leave, milord? It'll be quite difficult to book passage in the midst of this crisis, but I can see from the distaste so clearly written upon your face, you do not care to have me here."

Gods damn him. 

"How can you tell?"

Janus decides, it’s the way the alchemist speaks, so smoothly and light, without a care in the world, that puts him off. His pale clawed hands carefully unwrap his tools, arrange them on his workbench in a neat row, before he begins to tinker with his calcifier to attune it to his needs. He doesn’t look up to Janus as he speaks, instead only continuing to speak, back turned to him, as if he weren’t the count and instead some common servant boy.

"You've barely spoken a word to me since I've arrived. You clearly know of my condition and you share it. I understand that not all vampires get along, but I had hoped you'd at least extend a welcome beyond accompanying me to my study."

Janus tries not to force his next words out. What kind of person did the alchemist think he was if he could drop everything to accommodate him? The little man is beginning to get on his nerves, and he’s only been in his presence for a few hours. He tries to distract himself by observing the way that the dim light that floods in through the small stained windows plays on the shiny glass of his alchemical equipment.

"I'm a busy man."

"Oh, I'm sure of it, but we must introduce ourselves properly soon. Perhaps over wine, or a meal, yes?" The alchemist's sharp teeth glint as he smiles. His nails scrape and squeak across a flask as he sets it up on a shelf, and it makes a sharp jolt of irritation shoot through Janus’ skull.

Janus folds his arms across his chest.

"I would refuse your offer, but as I do believe in extending common courtesy to those under my employance, I will accept, albeit reluctantly."

"Excellent. Why not tomorrow, when I've accommodated myself more adequately. I’ve brought a vintage from my homeland, why not open it over some light conversation?"

And just like that, the alchemist has discovered Janus’ one weakness.

"I wouldn't be opposed to that, no."

Even Janus’ demeanour seems to relax, shoulders slumping oh so slightly 

The alchemist smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his mouth curling like a satisfied cat's.

"You're much too kind, milord. Tomorrow, or perhaps… tonight?"

There is a playful gleam in the alchemist's syrupy pink eyes.

“Tomorrow night. I don’t believe I’ll be busy then.”

The alchemist is pleased with that answer.

“Tomorrow night, I will bring the wine, and we can get to know each other better. I make it a point of mine to familiarize myself with my employer.”

“Don’t think this means we’ll be friends.”

“Of course,” the alchemist responds, smooth as ever, unruffled. “We may not be friends, but I hope that in time, you do not hold such open hostility towards me.”

“Don’t take it personally. I’m not the kind of man that people make friends with.”

“Hm, I feel like you’d be sorely mistaken. I think you’re a man that just doesn’t know how to acknowledge the fact that despite his nature, people are willing to know him, to understand him.”

“You’re a vampire too,” Janus says, lamely. Why is he letting this alchemist talk to him as if he’s known him for years? He doesn’t even let Hal-Liurz or even Mercator, for that, talk to him in this manner.

“Yes.” The alchemist smiles again, but even then, he always seems to be smiling, lips permanently curled into a sly, cat-like smile, that made Janus unsure of every word, made him feel like he had to dance in circles around him to not be caught off guard.

Janus isn’t sure how to respond.

“Tomorrow night, Janus. Remember.” The alchemist watches as Janus leaves in a swish of red velvet and gold brocade and furs.

He smiles to himself, again, and straightens his potted nightshade.

+

It’s been nearly a month now, since that first meeting, and Janus remembers his forgotten promise to the alchemist. 

Janus decides he’ll meet the alchemist on his own terms. On familiar grounds.

Hal-Liurz summons the alchemist up to Janus’ parlor, where Janus decides he’ll make his entry with dramatic flair, and make himself seem unflappable as possible.

Because he is, he assures himself.

Janus Hassildor is not a man who is not taken for a fool. He is not a man that you can speak circles around, and he is certainly not a man who is going to be bested by his court alchemist in any way.

But it’s as the saying goes, the best laid plans have the habit of going so, so wrong.

The alchemist comes into his parlor just as Janus is trying to put a book up on a shelf, forgoing the ladder next to the shelf to stand on his toes and attempt to reach the top shelf. Janus is tall, but not  _ that _ tall, and he’s partially undressed, if you could call being out of his surcoat undressed, his velvet and silk doublet unbuttoned.

It is in that moment that the alchemist decides to appear, dressed immaculately in his black finery, not the stuff he’d wear around his alchemical experiments, but something much more luxurious. 

His fur mantle was draped around his arms, studded with gold. His robes were red silk jacquard, and he wore a nearly translucent chiffon shift beneath it, clasping at his throat with a silver brooch in the form of a hand.

Janus turns to look at him, and unfortunately, his gaze travels all the way down from the top of his head, to stop at the shining brooch on his throat, and to jump down to his chest, which is barely hidden by the rich red fabric, and mostly on display through the sheer gauziness of the chiffon. Through it, he can see scarred skin and a fine dusting of pale hair on his chest. A large gold medallion set with a single ruby in the center hangs round his neck, and rests atop the black chiffon like a full moon in the midst of the night sky.

“Milord,” the alchemist says, bowing his head slightly. Loose strands of hair fall forwards and arrange themselves prettily on his shoulders.

Janus thinks it is time to use his name instead of calling him by his profession.

“Vicente Valtieri.”

“And here I was, thinking you’d forgotten it. It’s been a while since we’ve last met, face to face, not by notes slipped to me by my apprentices.”

Janus puts his hands on his hips, momentarily forgetting himself. For the Divines’ sake, he’s not some housewife.

“And I was thinking you’d be here later.”   
“I was summoned, thus I came immediately. Is that not what was desired?”

Janus huffs.

“No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t ready to receive a visitor just now.”

“Clearly not.”

Vicente makes no move to leave, or look away, as Janus buttons up his doublet, and instead stands still as he watches him, holding the bottle of wine in one hand. No expression betrays his calmly amused look, and Janus almost feels, well, embarrassed.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Make yourself comfortable.” Janus snaps at him, and Vicente seems to remember where he is, as he moves towards the table between the two high backed chairs. He sets down the bottle, and he takes a seat as Janus smooths his hair back.

Janus is about to take a seat himself when he decides to stop and stare for who knows what reason.

Vicente is a very small man, his frame is pitifully slight, and he reminds Janus of a hungry cat, hunched over and skulking about for scraps.

It's not that he's not handsome, he is in fact, quite attractive. His soft ash brown hair falls to the middle of his back, tied with a limp ribbon. Loose strands seem to frame his face, which is gaunt in the cheeks, full in the lips and sunken in the eyes. Despite his strange features, Janus would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate his aesthetic value.

Everything about him seems to unsettle Janus.

Janus almost feels like taking him under his employment was an act of pity rather than necessity. Some sort of charity case.

And then he remembers his qualifications, the way he carries himself as if he was more of a lord than Janus.

Charity case? If anything,  _ Janus _ was the real charity case here. Pleading for him to come and….

He hasn’t checked on Rona since Vicente had arrived in Skingrad.

“Pleasant evening, isn’t it?” Vicente’s voice is cheerful as he pops the cork on the bottle.

“Yes, it is.” Janus clenches and unclenches his fists as he thinks of what to say.

Vicente notices, and Janus chides himself.

“Well.”

“Yes?” Vicente is pouring them each a tall glass.

“Are you enjoying the city? Cyrodiil?”

“Ah, yes. Cyrodiil is a nice place to return to, but the circumstances are, as you can see, quite strange. Rarely am I consulted on  _ curing _ vampirism, much less that I’d be arriving on the day of the emperor’s assassination, and moreso, that there would be a gate to Oblivion itself on my doorstep.” Vicente smiles and raises his glass to Janus, before taking it to his lips, and taking a deep inhale.

“Hm, this was a good year. High Rock wines aren’t made from grapes, unlike the kinds you have here in your west Weald. We are fond of our elderberry wines, which is the one I’ve brought for us to share.”

Sure enough, beneath the fermentation and alcohol, Janus can smell the rich sweetness of ripe berries.

“Well, to Rona’s health, Lord Hassildor.” Vicente raises his glass, and Janus follows, and they clink them together gently.

“To Rona.”

They each take a sip.

“That’s quite nice.” Janus says.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Sweet. Simple.” Vicente sighs. “I’ll miss High Rock. A wonderful place. You should visit sometime. Perhaps, leave the county business once this is all over, take a break. We all know we’re going to need one.”

“What makes you so sure this is going to pass so quickly?”   
“Quickly? Oh, no, Janus. I don’t know how long this will take to overcome, but this can’t last forever. And I… I have faith, yes, that this will not mark the end of our world. The situation is dire, but I believe that the world works in mysterious ways.” Vicente sips at his wine. 

“The situation is more dire than not. Many of my men have died already.”

“Sacrifices will be made. There will be losses. You should know this, Janus.”

Janus isn’t sure how to respond.

“You’re right, yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Vicente looks at him with an even gaze, his expression serene.

“Don’t give up hope, Janus.”

“I haven’t. I don’t intend to.”

“Good.”

They are both silent as they empty their glasses.

Finally, Vicente gets up.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to the lady of the castle, yes?”

“Yes, you’re excused.”

Vicente bows, and leaves. He leaves the bottle on the table.

Janus picks it up, examines the label.

It’s from Daggerfall, the name of the winery it comes from has rubbed off the label long ago, but Janus isn’t surprised, considering its age. Very,  _ very _ early Third Era. 3E 10.

Vicente being old as dirt doesn’t surprise Janus. The way that the vampire carries himself lends him an air of having seen it all, experienced it all. Perhaps he too, is searching for a cure for himself, an end to his cursed existence.

Janus puts the bottle down, and picks up his coat. He’s about to leave, when he turns back, and takes the bottle up in one hand.

Never hurt to have wine on hand. He opens the cabinet behind his bureau, and stores it next to some other vintage West Weald wine that’s been there for ages.

He looks out the stained glass window. Sure enough, the skies are dark and stormy, crackling with red and orange above the gate outside Skingrad.

He sighs.

Something must be done, and soon.

+

The very next day, a young Dunmer strides into court, purpose in every step, inky black hair spilling over his shoulders, dressed in worn black leathers that fit him like a glove. At his hip is a finely wrought silver sword, its scabbard worked to look like it was entwined with thorny vines and roses.

"Lord Hassildor," he begins.

Immediately, Janus knows what he wants.

"I know why you've come, hero." Janus turns to face him, and the hero's hopeful smile begins to fade.

Janus feels a bit ashamed as he rejects his request, but he absolutely cannot, will not afford to loosen up the ranks with a gate looming on his doorstep.

"I cannot afford to send aid to Bruma. The gate outside of Skingrad looms over my people, and unless something is done about it, I simply cannot fulfil your request, the Countess’ request, in good faith, and leave my city vulnerable to attack."

The hero seems to consider this for a moment.

“And if something is done about the gate, will you consider answering her call for aid?”

“Of course I would. But as it is now….” Janus looks out at the dark sky.

The hero smiles, his clever eyes seem to glimmer with something in them that makes Janus feel… uneasy at worst, and a bit hopeful at best.

“Consider it done. If I were you, I’d start writing out a letter to the Countess right now.”

The hero bows, his wind braids brush his fine cheekbones. He looks up at Janus with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Farewell, Lord Hassildor. I’ll be back soon.”

Janus stares at the mer as he departs, his hunter green cloak swishing at his ankles as he leaves.

He has learnt not to take much stock in adventurers claiming to be heroes, but this one… this one seems promising. He feels cowardly, not taking it into his own hands, but by the Nine, he’s just one man.

His head pulses sharply.

He should go find Vicente. Maybe he has some reassurances for him.

Sure enough, Vicente is in his lab, watching a bright pink substance drip into a little flask slowly. He’s sitting on a tall stool, legs crossed, plain green cotton robes pulled tight around his frame. He’s wearing a thick quilted coat embroidered with little golden vines, and it shows signs of age, especially around the elbows and shoulders. Despite his somewhat drab fashion, he still exudes an air of elegance and charm. He’s concentrated intensely on his alchemical concoction, lazily twirling a thin glass rod between his fingers.

Janus clears his throat.

“Ah! Count Hassildor," Vicente softly exclaims. "How good to see you here."

"Yes, yes. I've come to…" Janus trails off as he tries to think of an excuse. "I've come to see how you're faring."

Vicente smiles.

"Quite well, thank you. Forgive me, milord, but you're looking a bit peaky. May I indulge you in…?" Vicente gestures to a heavy ebony trunk in the corner of the room. It's a menacing thing, silver banded and dark with age. 

"Don't tell me you keep…"

"I must survive in one way or another. I'm sure you understand."

Janus huffs. He walks towards the chest, kneels down, and as he puts one hand on the latch, he feels a sharp sting as he tries to open it.

Vicente notices his grunt of surprise.

"Forgive me, milord. I forgot to mention the special enchantment placed upon it. If it tastes the blood of a non-vampire, it won't open. However, once it's tasted yours, it shan't do that again. Once is enough." Vicente's tone is apologetic, and Janus's expression softens.

Within the chest, and on a bed of enchanted silk, cool to the touch, are medium sized potion vials.

They're unlabelled, and some are half full, but Janus recognizes the thick liquid within.

He picks one up.

"And just where do you acquire this sort of stuff?"

Vicente seems a bit hesitant at first, but relaxes once he realizes Janus' tone isn't accusatory.

"Prisoners, bandits, common rogues. The one you're holding happens to come from a highwayman who tried to rob me on one of my walks in the countryside."

"Good." Janus opens the flask, and sniffs it cautiously. Khajiit, it seems, was on the menu.

Vicente carefully takes it from him, and over a small enchanted flame, he puts on a small clay vessel in which to warm the blood.

"I'd be a poor host if I let you drink it cold. I have to keep it that way for storage, you see, but I don't much care for it at that temperature." Vicente pours the blood into the vessel, and tinkers with the flame, adjusting it until the blood starts to burble gently, fragrant as the scent fills the room.

Janus watches him.

“And how do you preserve it, apart from magic?”

“Just so, with magic only. Keeps it stable until it gets taken out and warmed up, then you have to finish it. A simple spell I was taught by a friend long ago.” Vicente smiles as he takes the vessel off of the heat with a pair of tongs, and nods towards a cabinet near Janus. Janus opens it, and takes out two crystal goblets.

“Ah, I didn’t know you’d want to share.”

“Of course I’d want to share, Vicente. I’d feel… odd, taking a meal without being accompanied.”

Vicente smiles, surprised at the Count’s admittance. “How quaint.”

He pours them both a tall glass, shaking the vessel ever so slightly to get every last drop out.

“To your health, Janus.”

Janus takes his goblet, and giving it a cautious sniff, he takes a sip.

It tastes… fine. Not strange or off. Surprisingly, fresh.

Vicente is taking a deeper drink before he puts his own goblet down.

“Lovely. Now, Janus, why is it that you’ve sought me out?”

Janus circles the rim of his glass.

“I seek reassurance, Vicente. I had a visitor earlier, who came seeking troops for Bruma. I sent him away saying that Skingrad has its own problems. He said he’d solve them. I… It’s strange, I nearly don’t doubt his words. But if something were to happen to him… I’d feel guilty, I suppose. As if I’m the one who should be doing something.”

“You’re doing quite enough. Skingrad needs a leader right now, and I can think of no one better than you. You’ve been leading her for nearly fifty years now, hm?”

Janus nods. “Almost.”

“I dare say you’ll continue leading her for another fifty, why not a hundred? But that can’t happen if you’re to be lost in one of those gates. Let our hero do as he wills for now, and if he does not return, I am sure another will come to take his place.” Vicente smiles.

Janus sighs.

“You say this with such certainty. I wish I had such confidence.”

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn when to put all your eggs in one basket. I think this is one of those times.” Vicente hums and drains his glass. “Well, let’s hope our hero is doing alright, wherever he may be.”

Janus nods, tense as he holds his glass and raises it to his lips.

“Let us hope, yes.”

Together, they look out the window, to the ominous countryside, deep in thought,

+

The Dunmer returns the next evening, his armor splattered with blood not his own and as Janus looks out of the closest window, he sees the skies clearing to their usual dreary grey instead of the fiery red cracked obsidian that had been roiling above Skingrad for the past month.

It seems only fair that he rewards him by granting his request, and to offer food and board for as long as he’s in town.

The mer’s name is Pallas, and he is not a native of Cyrodiil. Janus can tell by the way he lilts certain words, unfamiliar vowels sitting strangely on his tongue. 

It is his first time in Skingrad properly, too.

“You have a spectacular city, Count Hassildor.”

Janus nods, looking over the Dunmer further now that they’ve lulled into an easy conversation. His ears are long and slim, pierced twice on either side with silver rings that clink as he tilts his head. His hair is pitch black and styled with wind braids, framing a handsome face with sharp cheekbones and a strong nose. His lips are tinted with a deep violet pigment, and kohl artfully rims his eyes.

He wouldn’t be surprised if this one was a bit… peculiar.

“I am proud of being its ruler. Will you be joining us for dinner, Pallas?”

Pallas smiles, batting his thick eyelashes, teeth bright and ruby eyes brighter. “If it is what my lordship desires.”

Janus feels a bit of saccharine formality there, and he tries to hide his distaste. “It is. You asked one of the maids to draw you a bath, and to find clean clothes for you, yes?"

"Yes, my lord. I do hope I no longer smell like brimstone and smoke, and these clothes are very comfortable, easy to move in. You’ll have to give me the name of your tailor."

Janus laughs shortly. “Good. If he is awake now, I'd like you to find my alchemist; I’d hate to see you succumb to an unseen wound."

“An alchemist?" Pallas cocks his brow. 

“He’s just as qualified as any physician, and has the equipment necessary to treat you of any malady.”

"A physician for a vampire… unusual, but I’ve come to expect it in this town.”

The mer curtsies, and takes his leave. 

Janus sighs.

As the hours pass, he sets to wandering the halls, and passes by Vicente’s rooms. His private chamber, and next to it, his apothecary.

He hears quiet voices coming from behind the heavy wooden door leading to the latter.

He stands still for a moment, focusing intently on who it could be. Vicente rarely received visitors, and he can’t think of anyone he mentioned recently that would be arriving for a consultation, or a delivery, during their brief chat that afternoon.

“You’re quite the persistent fellow, following me all the way here.”

“I’d cross oceans of time to find you, Vicente.”

The Dunmer’s smooth voice and the prosaic line makes Janus almost snarl aloud.

“Oh? Tell me more. What would you do for me, my protege?” Vicente’s voice is low and soft, and Janus can’t help himself. His curiosity is going to be the death of him, but he lets himself blend into the shadows, and he watches Vicente push the Dunmer back onto his examination table.

So they  _ are  _ familiar with each other. Perhaps too familiar, the way that the Dunmer starts to tug at Vicente’s clothes, and Vicente lets himself be unwrapped like a present upon his lap.

Janus watches with jealousy, and… excitement.

Vicente always seemed so close, so far, here and there but never in between.

This was Vicente truly within reach, and this Dunmer had somehow managed to achieve it.

Why not himself?

The Dunmer’s hands are a sharp contrast to Vicente’s hair, his skin, and before Vicente lets him slide his robe off of his shoulders, Janus stops himself, and in a soft shower of deep red mist, he finds himself back in the throne room, breathing heavily as if he’d just spent minutes below the water.

Janus quickly makes his way to the balcony that overlooks the courtyard, maybe the fresh air would calm him down, but he curses himself, his fists balled up by his sides, tension gathering in his shoulders.

He can’t say anything now, can he?

It’s Vicente’s business what he does privately- it’s not like they’re-

Janus stops himself before he embarks on a dangerous train of thought. 

He bites the inside of his lip before he stops at the faint taste of iron.

+

Dinner is an awkward affair for no one, except Janus.

Vicente and Pallas seem to dance around one another, in conversation. Never quite showing that they were acquainted, Vicente remains as coolly detached as when he dealt with him, never pushing out of polite boundaries. Pallas presses a bit more, but almost seems satisfied when Vicente reflects each comment flawlessly.

It's a strange form of flirting, he must admit.

Janus would be lying if he said he was not jealous.

He is  _ very _ jealous.

Because the mer is pretty, young, and his blood smells rich and deep with a hidden strength, The strength needed to go into Oblivion gates every day, it seemed like, to fight daedra on their territory, to be the Hero of Kvatch.

Janus drinks deeply from his goblet.

Vicente smiles so brightly at the mer, and Janus can tell he’s fed recently- most likely on their dinner guest. His lips are full and pink, and the lines on his face are less prevalent, the hollows of his cheeks and eyes filling just a touch. He still looks ghostly pale, dressed in dark green silk, fur mantle rakishly uneven on his shoulders.

The mer's clothes are covering as much skin as possible too, occasionally tugging at his collar as if to take the friction off of a bruise.

_ Hiding the evidence, are you, now? _

Janus scolds himself quietly, and tries to focus on something other than his misguided anger.

He decides to stare at the bruised surface of an apple, letting their conversation wash against him but never past him, choosing to ignore them for his sanity’s sake.

He pours himself a glass of wine, and watches the cloudy dregs at the bottom swirl in the goblet's pewter depths.

+

The hero leaves the next day, without much fanfare.

Vicente makes his rounds about the castle as usual, until he ends up outside Janus' study, and knocks once before pushing the door open anyways.

"Good evening, Janus."

"Vicente," Janus replies curtly.

Vicente takes no notice of his tone, and instead continues on.

"What a relief that gate doesn't loom over the city, isn't it? I was getting tired of seeing that same sky every day. Though it did feel like an eternal night, that sort of darkness cannot last forever." He peers out of the foggy window and smiles as the sun's last rays disappear over the hillside.

Janus bites his tongue and continues writing his letter to the countess of Bruma.

"Janus?"

"Yes?"

"You've been awfully hard to find since yesterday, and now you're a man of little words."

"I always have been." 

"Not quite. You can be quite loquacious when you talk about our kind."

"We differ greatly in opinion when it comes to talking about this curse-"

"-this gift, my dear Janus."

Janus' lip crinkles in distaste.

"Very well, this  _ gift _ that you are so overly fond of."

"I am not overly fond of it, Janus, and I do not hate it. I simply  _ am _ it." Vicente is sitting on the corner of his desk now, one slim thigh over the other, studying Janus from his perch like a panther about to take its prey.

Janus isn't quite sure why he feels so small under Vicente's gaze.

As if Vicente was some shadowy, mystical entity, an agent of night.

"Get off my desk. You're going to scuff the finish, and you're not a child."

Vicente chuckles softly.

"Janus, would it kill you to relax? Ever since the Hero left, you've been so tense."

He does not get off the desk.

Janus sets his jaw.

"You knew him."

"Who?"

"Who else? The Hero of Kvatch, you were calling him your protege, yet you pretended you'd never met him in your life, why?" Janus glowers up at Vicente, whose eyes have widened. 

_ Caught you now. _

"Janus, don't be so unreasonable. Perhaps I did know him."

"Intimately, I presume? What sort of things are you teaching him, eh? I didn’t know I've let a harlot take charge of my wife’s care."

Now that makes Vicente get off his desk.

And clutch at his robes in indignation too.

" _ Janus _ ," he hisses. "You're  _ foul. _ "

Janus gets up, slamming his hands on his desk, knocking over the inkwell in the process.

"And  _ you _ have to  _ hold your tongue  _ when you speak to me."

That makes Vicente slink back a step, the heel of his boot clacking on the stone sharply. It seems to fluster him further. Vicente always prided himself on being so silent as he almost glided through the corridors of the castle.

"Janus-"

"Leave me be, Vicente. Tend to Rona. I hired you to care for her, not to bed guests and play the fool."

Vicente's pallid face is drawn tight with barely contained rage.

"Very well." He turns stiffly, tightening his posture, and stalks out of Janus' study.

For a moment, Janus feels… triumphant.

Then the cold leaden feeling starts to creep in. He clenches and unclenches his hands.

What in the world was that?

Jealousy, anger, affection all toying with his emotions, over his wife's physician of all people. A vampire no less.

Yes, Janus hated his kind, and yes- he refused to entertain others, all others except his dear Rona.

Until Vicente planted himself in his life.

But he had asked for it, hadn't he? He had even told him how close he felt to him- how much he needed him. Perhaps not in that way, but as a friend, as someone who understood his plight.

And yet Vicente seemed keen to let Janus bare his soul to him, whilst keeping his own closely guarded.

Janus looks down at the letter he had been writing, now saturated with ink. 

He can't bring himself to care.

With the tip of his letter opener, he pushes the sodden paper off the desk and onto the floor.

For now, he contents himself with going outside.

He needs a breath of fresh air.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, but like i said, idk how often or how much i'll update each time.  
> EDIT 1/23/21: rewrite of chapter 2 complete!

Vicente is nowhere to be seen for the next few days.

Janus doesn't try to look for him, hoping to avoid another confrontation. His face feels hot with shame thinking about it, and he has to press a hand to his cheek to feel if it's his imagination or truly his body reacting to the emotion.

That is, until he visits Rona's room, and Vicente is seated in the chair besides her deathbed, brushing her hair. Janus watches silently from the door, not wanting to disturb them; his fingers tighten on the book he had brought to read to her.

Vicente doesn't seem to notice him, until he speaks up, not once looking away from his task.

"Hello, Janus."

Ah.

"Vicente."

It's silent for a while, the only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth, and the brushing of Rona's hair.

Janus watches Vicente's hands as they work.

He's so gentle with her, and the fact he's doing this in the first place speaks volumes. It was never asked of him to take care of her appearance.

"You… you don't have to do that."

"I know. I just think a lady must always look her best." Vicente sets the brush down and tucks a lock of graying blonde hair behind a delicately pointed ear.

Her face is a death mask, cold and wax like. Her lips are drawn tightly over her teeth, her nose is pinched and her cheeks and eyes are deep dark hollows.

She looks nothing like the woman Janus had married, but he loves her all the same. He stands besides her deathbed, and sighs.

"Vicente, do you think I should let her go?"

"You were keen not to when I first met you. Why change your mind now?" Vicente turns to look at him, hands on his knees. He examines his face closely.

Janus turns away for a moment, only for a moment but Vicente catches it.

“What exactly goes on in that head of yours, my Count Hassildor?” Vicente’s face betrays no emotion, and Janus wishes that his perception started kicking in now because he can’t take not knowing what Vicente thinks of him.

“She suffers greatly, every day that she is kept in this state. Sometimes I fear that she’s awake in there, feeling the passage of time, hearing my voice, but unable to wake from her slumber. It is enough to wear down any man to the bone.”

“Even you.” Vicente’s tone is gentle though, and it brings him some comfort.

“Yes,” Janus responds. “Sometimes I wish that… that I was asleep with her. So she wouldn’t be alone. I hate for her to be alone. Part of me feels responsible for this. I never saw… never saw the warning signs. I never paid attention to her, until it was too late. I was so blinded with ambition, trying to prove myself as the ruler of Skingrad. She slipped away, between my fingers.”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Janus, I… I’m sorry if this is intrusive, but you do know how some vampires are-”

“No, gods, no. I could never accept anything like that. No. Ours was accidental. We were coming back to the castle one night, we had visited Rona’s family. Vampires ambushed us, thinking us to be easy prey. Of course, we lived, beat them back. But by the time I had realized what had happened, it was too late for us to be cured.”

“I understand,” Vicente says smoothly. “You didn’t have to tell me.”

“You asked. I see no use in hiding the truth.” Janus sighs. “I just… well, I just wish things would have turned out differently. She wanted children. She wanted a family. And that was taken from us. Now, we don’t even have each other.”

“You do. In a manner of speaking,” Vicente says. He picks up the book Janus had entered with. “She still has you. You haven’t given up on her. You come to her, you speak with her, you let her know you are still here. You love her. And you still have her, even if she isn’t responding. I am sure she still holds all the love she had for you in her heart.”

Janus feels his stomach twist into knots.

“You’re right.”

Vicente places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He holds out the book to Janus.

“Read to her. I’ll take my leave-”

“ _ No. _ ” Janus says, sharp.

Vicente seems surprised.

“Milord?”

“I mean- stay. I… I don’t want to be alone right now. Well, not-” Janus looks at Rona quickly, then back to Vicente.

“I understand.” Vicente takes his seat next to Janus again, fixes his shawl. He leans back in the chair.

Janus feels a swell of gratitude in his heart towards the man.

“Thank you.”

He opens the book, and begins to read.

+

When Janus is done reading, he tucks the book under his arm, and gets up.

He’s about to leave when he watches Vicente pick up the gilded comb that holds back Rona’s hair from her face from the nightstand. He’s about to put it back into her hair, when Janus appears at his side, and cover’s Vicente’s hand with his own, setting the book down on the covers

“Let me.”

Vicente opens his mouth as if to protest, but lets Janus take the comb from his hands.

Janus gently tucks Rona’s hair behind her ears, what was once soft and healthy now felt brittle and dry, 

As he slides the comb into her hair, it’s as if Vicente can hear the gears in his head turning to self-hatred and guilt once more.

With a delicate touch, Vicente’s fingers brush his wrist. Janus looks down at his eyes, so intelligent and calculating in their cloudy rose quartz color.

“Why don’t we go out for a walk, Janus? I believe there is room enough beneath my parasol for two.”

Janus stares a bit dumbly, perhaps, but he nods, and trails after Vicente out of the room, the other vampire snuffing out the flames on the candelabra.

Before he leaves, he casts one last look at Rona, who even in the dark, seems to hold some spark in her yet.

But that spark seems to be growing weaker every day.

Janus feels a twist in his heart, aching and tender like a wound reopened.

He follows Vicente out into the corridor nonetheless, and they are both quiet all the way to the gardens, where Vicente holds open the door for him, and opens up his parasol to shield them from the sun, already hidden by the clouds that constantly thundered over Skingrad.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired to write more recently, so another chapter!  
> EDIT 1/23/21: Rewrite of chapter 3 complete!  
> EDIT 1/23/21: the dialogue between rumendil and janus is taken from the quest itself, ulterior motives, from the UESP page for it. however, some liberties have been taken with it.

The Crisis ends, and Janus is surprised at how little has changed in the city despite it.

He hears rumours, yes, he hears rumours that the Hero of Kvatch has disappeared, that Martin Septim became a god.

He isn’t keen on verifying anything for himself.

Vicente says not to take stock in the former.

“If he disappeared, I’d be the first to know about it.”

“Is this because of your special relationship with him?”

“Perhaps.” Vicente shrugs simply and continues mixing his concoction as Janus pages through the Black Horse Courier he had lying out on the table.

“Strange times are on the air.”

“Yes. Everyone talks about the calm before the storm, but how about the aftermath?”

Janus supposes that Vicente is right.

+

Mercator does the exact opposite of taking care of it.

Janus is surprised the Altmer would do something so foolish.

And Janus almost feels a flare of malicious glee when the Altmer’s huge yellow eyes widen in horror as Mercator takes a slash at him with his dagger.

It’s only when he sees the blossom of red across the Altmer’s vest that Janus feels the need to step in, and as more necromancers move out of the hedge, he hastens his pace.

Janus easily snaps the necks of two of them, and the mer kicks Mercator in the chest so fiercely that Janus admires the sound of bone crunching beneath his heel.

“You impossible fool! What possessed you to think I would suggest a meeting here, of all places?” Janus scolds the Altmer, feeling heat flare up his face. “At least your gullibility served some useful purpose,” he says, kicking the corpse of one of the necromancers. 

“I knew about Mercator, but not his friends. Now, none of them are a threat any longer.”

The Altmer stands brazenly before him.

“And who’re you?”

“Count Janus Hassildor, at your service. A ‘thank you’ might be in order at this point, because I’ve had enough of your skulking about in my city-”

“I’m just doing what I was sent to do! Why the hell do you have a necromancer in your employ anyways?!”

“Do you not recognize a necromancer when you see one? I suspected Mercator was involved in their cult, but was unwilling to move against him without knowing the identities of his allies.”

Janus isn’t sure if it’s the scent of his blood that triggers it, or if it’s his own rage confusing itself with lust as the mer begins to strip the shirt off of his body, and exposes a toned, well built torso. The cut is shallow enough that he begins to cast a healing spell, but Janus grips his wrist tightly.

The mer starts.

“What-”

“Leave it,” Janus growls.

When he comes out of his bloodlust, the mer is laying in the grass, his neck marked with puncture wounds and clothes rumpled, clutching to Janus’ shoulders.

Janus pulls himself away from him.

The mer moans softly.

“Despite what your council may think, I’ve not thrown in with the necromancers, and would never do so” Janus quickly clothes himself, and Rumendil props himself up on his elbows. “You may pass along that message.”

Rumendil buttons up his shirt.

Janus shrugs.

“Don’t feel too strongly about it. This doesn’t mean anything.”

The mer sighs, and lays back down in the grass.

Janus rolls his eyes and tries to arrange himself. There’s a thread loose from where the mer grabbed onto him.

“I can’t afford to get involved. You don’t know what you’d be getting yourself into.”

“Yeah, I’d be getting myself into a man with issues. I’ll make sure to tell Polus you send him your love.”

Janus grunts.

“Don’t be crass.”

The mer gets to his feet, visibly woozy. Janus almost feels bad, feeding on him and not even worrying about his condition.

But he also feels… good, in a way. Fed, sated in more ways than one.

He’s certain of one thing- he’s sure he’s going to regret this later.

He starts his walk of shame back to the castle, hoping he doesn't run into anyone on the way. Shifting comes easier now that he's fed, and he feels himself grow smaller, lighter.

To anyone else, they'd see him and think he was just an overgrown bat, or a Valenwood flying fox.

He's not used to flying even after all this time, but he manages to flap his way up to the entrance he had made just for this purpose. 

Changing back leaves him a bit dizzy, and he still looks frazzled, and he thinks he's alone until he hears Vicente speak.

"Now, where'd you run off to?"

Janus winces.

The last person he wanted to speak to.

“Official Skingrad business. What are you doing in my quarters?”

“Looking for you. Hal-Liurz says that someone’s taken care of the vampires in that cave near town.”

“Let me guess, an Altmer.”

“Precisely.”

Janus groans.

“I’ve met him. Well, if he comes to town anytime soon, I suppose I’ll have to reward him in some way.”

Vicente nods. Then, he seems to stop in his tracks.

Janus notices him take a deep breath.

“Janus… you- well. Nevermind.”

Janus feels heat rise to his cheeks.

Vicente turns to look at him.

“For someone who gets so heated over my personal activities, you don’t seem to have a problem with doing the same.”

“Vicente-”

“No, it’s… fitting of you. You’re quite mercurial.”

“I don’t try to be.”

“You achieve it,” Vicente says. He hums, and turns to leave.

“I advise cleaning up a bit more if you intend to lurk the halls. I can see where he held onto your hair.”

Janus grunts, and smooths his hair back with his hands as Vicente leaves.

  
  


+

He apologizes yet again to Vicente when they bump into each other wandering the castle.

"You've already apologized once, or I suppose, your silence was your apology."

"I _am_ sorry. You didn't deserve to get dressed down like that." Janus folds his hands together behind his back.

Vicente leans against the wall, arms crossed across his chest.

"Certainly not. All said and done." He shrugs. "We're both adults. I just hope you can live with it."

"It was just one-"

"Yes, and you reeked of him. I can't imagine what the poor creature is going through right now. I daresay you've sired him."

Janus' eyes narrow.

"Don't get carried away now."

Vicente's lips twist into a cruel little smirk.

"You were starving, you feasted upon him, prolonged exposure like that… well, I reckon he'll be back wanting an explanation, if he doesn't catch on early. Poor thing, poor thing."

Janus feels that first wave of guilt crash into him. He tries to swallow it down, but fails.

Vicente starts to glide down the hallway again, his silk robe glossy in the candlelight, clinging to his lithe body. Janus watches him move, snakelike, soundless down the corridor.

"I wouldn't count on it," Janus calls after him.

"Oh, but I would!" Vicente replies, tossing one last look at him over his shoulder.

Janus waits until he's out of sight to sit down upon a nearby bench, his head suddenly aching and stomach roiling with guilt.

The warmth of the blood in him swells uncomfortably. Did he really give the Altmer his curse?

He hopes not. Rona was enough for him.

He can't do it again.

He closes his eyes, wishing he weren't such a fool, and hoping Vicente was wrong.

+

Janus curses inwardly as he stumbles again, tripping over his feet in an awkward sidestep, and nearly collapses to the floor.

Vicente laughs, stifled and short, nimbly correcting his step to account for Janus' blunder.

"And tell me why I agreed to Hal-liurz about any of this?"

"Because you want to dip your ladle into other people's soup bowls." Vicente smiles, fangs poking his plush lip and eyes bright.

His fang pokes right through his skin, and blood slowly oozes out of the puncture wound.

Vicente excuses himself, and takes out a lacy kerchief that he presses to his mouth.

Janus eyes him with some disgust. 

Vicente only looks so handsome because he helped himself to a wanted murderer in the dungeons before the night's event.

Vicente's hair, usually dry and brittle, was now lush and soft as it tumbled over his back. His pale face had taken on a touch of color to it, a subtle warmth that made him look less like a wax casting and more like a real, breathing person. Even then, his sharp cheekbones and angular face still made him look like the dark creature of the night he was.

Janus guesses he isn't better off.

Not by much, at least. He hasn't fed in a week, his anxiety for Rona growing by the day. 

A week ago, an Altmer had come to his court, seeking a cure.

This Altmer was familiar to him, perhaps too familiar.

Janus feels a stab of guilt in his belly, and something else, when he sees him sway into the hall, hands on his hips.

_“Ah. You must not know my name, milord. I'm Rumendil. Polus from the Arcane University sent me. I’ve been told you know of something about a cure.”_

_“My steward has told me as much.”_

Janus knew Rumendil from another errand the Arcane University had sent him on.

Janus knew Rumendil in more ways than one.

And Janus is quite sure he knows how the mer was turned.

That claw of guilt digs deeper into him until he’s quite sure if he were mortal, he’d have died of it already.

Vicente had looked over at him once the Altmer had departed, with a smug look on his face.

He hadn’t recognized the Altmer once he had been turned into a vampire. His hair, which used to be straight and held back from his face in a ribbon, now flowed freely down his back, over his shoulders, in luscious ash blonde curls.

Vampirism only looked good on a few, and even then, to look conventionally attractive, it was rare. Janus liked to consider himself lucky in that regard. Vicente was not so lucky, but Janus would have to be lying to say he didn’t find something pleasing in the man’s face.

However, Rumendil was a prime example of vampirism making someone go from attractive to otherworldly. His pink eyes glittered fiercely in the dim candlelight beneath a strong, dark brow, and his fangs were long and sharp when he smiled. 

And he did. Often.

Not only that, it made his already trim figure sleek and catlike, and with the tight leather armor Rumendil wears, laced up so tight that Janus is quite sure if he weren’t a vampire, he’d have expired from oxygen deprivation, it makes him look… _improper_.

Janus is surprised he wasn’t turned away at the gate as a man of ill-repute.

Janus tells him that he has found a witch.

Rumendil says he’ll go talk to her.

Rumendil has not returned.

Since that day, he's been too anxious to stay awake for too long. Many times Vicente has had to come into his chambers, shake him awake, and force him to at least do his usual pacing in the halls.

“You’re not the only one stressed here, Janus. If Rumendil and this witch are successful, I’m out of a job.”

Janus shut Vicente up with a single poisonous glare.

Later, he apologizes to him.

“The likelihood of him succeeding is low. I’m not even sure if she’s the witch I seek. I’m not even sure if she still lives. Or if Rumendil lives. He’s foolish, he’s idiotic-”

“He’s handsome.”

“Do you only have eyes for men?”

Vicente smiles.

“Yes,” he responds, simply, and Janus groans, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Vicente seems to find humor in that,

“Well, think of it this way. If he succeeds, good for him. If not, I’ll still be here trying to mix up my own cure.”

“Are you even sure of what you’re doing?”

“I daresay I’m an accomplished alchemist. I’ve studied many alleys to take to cure vampirism, but I’ve yet to find the right one.”

Janus sighs.

“Even if this does succeed, don’t count yourself out of work just yet. Gods know I need someone to rely on like you.”

Vicente seems flattered, and he puffs himself up a touch.

“Thank you, milord.”

The stress tires him greatly, and abstaining from blood seems to make it worse, but the idea of nourishing himself as much as it repulses him, also seems to thrill him.

When Rumendil had come to talk to Janus, he could smell the newly turned vampire’s latest meal on his breath. When Rumendil had smiled, his tongue was red with blood, like a lioness freshly devoured her prey.

Even now, Vicente, face softened and a healthy tone dancing upon his cheeks and lips, Janus feels starved.

Starved not just for blood, but for something else.

Something that makes him feel like crawling out of his skin, a fire that seems to consume him.

It lives in Rumendil’s red tongue, in Vicente’s cut lip.

Not just blood, but the way it made him feel when it rushed into him.

He tries not to let his mind wander to unsavory territories, but he can’t help but think of Rumendil, recently turned, his first meal. How eager was he, how hungry was he? Starving for a reason he couldn’t comprehend, for something he didn’t know until the first drop burst in his mouth.

It makes him feel even more repulsed than if he enjoyed it at all.

+

_They're not looking, you can turn your head now._

Vicente's voice is intrusive, yes, but Janus doesn't find telepathy spells as uncomfortable as he did when he was a young man. He is surprised he can still cast one, let alone, that it came so easily.

 _"Vampires are illusionists,"_ Vicente had explained to him, as they sat together in the study, pouring him a glass of warm spiced wine before the ball began. _"These spells come naturally to us, how a fish takes to water, we take to manipulation, veiling, blending in, just as easily. And for an accomplished mage like you,"_ he had smiled at this, a playful look in his eyes, _"it must be child's play."_

Janus feels strange, and dancing a simple waltz with Vicente surrounded by nobility of all sorts from the area, all vying for power, the vacuum formed by the crisis, by the death of the man who would have been emperor.

_You look worried Janus, is something on your mind?_

_It's been weeks since the end of the crisis, and no one's made any move to take the throne._

_It's the honeymoon period, Janus. Of course no one will make a move until they're sure it's no longer in bad taste. Besides, Ocato seems to be keeping the wolves at bay alright._

Janus tries not to frown, but his face betrays him, and Vicente's laughter ghosts across his mind.

The tempo of the musicians slow, the night is ending, and their dance becomes a gentle sway.

_You wouldn't mind if I took fresh air for a moment, would you?_

_Of course not._

_Would you like to join me?_

_It'd hardly be proper of me,_ Janus feels a heat prickle at his collar. _I am the host._

_Just for a moment. I would enjoy your company._

Janus considers this.

_A moment, then._

They make their way across the floor, leaving the pleasant warmth of the inside, to the cold air of the evening. Vicente sighs and stretches as he feels the moonlight hit his face, like cool water over dry skin.

"It's a lovely night, Janus."

"Yes, it is."

"Strange to think that all of this… is over. I wish I had met you earlier, so that we did not have to meet under such strange circumstances. I sense change on the wind, and it would dishearten me greatly if it carried me far from here."

Janus sighs.

"You think too much, Vicente."

"Do I?" Vicente smiles at him. "I am simply thinking of what lies in store. Not just for the empire, but for Skingrad. For you. For us."

"Us?"

"Think about it, Janus. We don't die. We will live to see these coming days, whether good or bad, and we will have to make the most of them. I would much like to face them together with you. With someone who understands this condition."

Janus can't help but feel his undead heart flutter.

"Does this mean-"

"I'll be asking for your permission to stay in Skingrad with you, indefinitely, if you'll permit it."

"Of course, Vicente," Janus says, unhesitatingly, surprising even himself.

Vicente smiles and the moonlight seems to play on his sharp teeth.

"I am grateful, Janus. Nothing would please me more than to stay by your side."

Janus nods. "You don't have to lay it on so thick, Vicente."

"I'm being honest, Janus. Being with you had given me a new perspective on life… or, rather, unlife. I have wandered most of my death alone, from Vvardenfell to Cyrodiil, and to find someone who wants to keep me in his life… who trusts me, is unusual. Even the few relationships I keep are usually at arm's length. I cherish our close friendship."

Janus swallows hard. His head feels like it's going to pop with the pressure of all the thoughts growing within it.

"Yes. I cherish it too."

Vicente seems like he wants to add something, but instead he gazes at Janus pensively, and Janus can feel the vampire's persistent telepathic push.

"Vicente."

"Ah, forgive me. I forgot about that. Would you care to remove the spell?"

Janus nods, and with a satisfying rush, his head feels lighter, and the pressure seems to diminish, but he doesn't feel any less conflicted. The little blood in his body has started to rush faster in his veins, and he feels… alive, in an awful way, sick and apprehensive and the worst parts of feeling come back.

The last time he felt like this, he remembers, is when he was courting Rona.

Ah.

Vicente pulls his coat around himself a bit, breathing in the sweet night air, and turns to head inside.

"I think I'll have an early night, Janus. Unless, you wanted to join me for a nightcap?"

"I… I'll think about it."

+

Janus watches Vicente pour the thick red liquid into the crystal goblet, his pale and slender hands gripping the neck of the bottle delicately, his fingers adorned with his many rings, his nails clawlike.

Yet, he'd like nothing more to hold them.

"Drink up, Janus. You need your strength."

Janus takes the warm goblet, and sips tentatively. He can't let himself gorge, he has to keep his composure.

Perhaps he swallows the glasses down too quickly, but it seems like only moments later, he has a flush on his face, and everything seems much clear cut, much more bright.

And he feels quite bold.

Is this what being blood drunk is?

Vicente seems to note Janus' condition with amusement, and he tries to coax him to his room.

"You'll do something to regret, Janus, if you carry on like this. Lay down."

"I am laying down," Janus argues, as he turns to his side on Vicente's bed. His coat is hung up on a chair, his shirt unlaced and vest open. Perhaps most embarrassingly, he had to unbutton his breeches because of his body reacting to the influx of fresh blood, and he may have imagined Vicente staring as he did.

Or did he?

He doesn't know, but Vicente is looking very handsome reclining in his armchair, smoking a pipe, watching Janus almost disapprovingly, but in a playful, chiding way. There's a light blush on his cheeks and on the tips of his ears, as he observes Janus with unerring eyes.

Obviously, he is taking some delight in seeing the count sprawled atop his sheets.

"Perhaps in your own bed, Janus, and not mine. People may talk," he warns, with no real urgency in his voice.

"Let them. Or better yet, give them something to talk about."

"My, how bold."

Janus huffs, putting an arm over his eyes.

Vicente, meanwhile, has been drinking in the sight eagerly. While he'd never think of taking advantage of the count in his delicate state, he can't help but find himself staring at him.

The count was an imposing figure, all broad shoulders and taller than most men, save Nords or Altmer, but he hid his wondrous physique under his heavy robes. Vicente can see how trim his waist is, the musculature of his arms and legs, and when Janus raises his arms to cover his face, his shirt rucks up and he can catch a glimpse of his iliac furrows, and the thick dark hair leading from his navel down below his waistband.

Vicente silently thanks Sithis for whatever he did to deserve this.

"I'm quite serious, Janus. Perhaps it'd be best if you retired to your own quarters this evening." He's trying to wheedle Janus into leaving before his entire body explodes with the force of new blood being pumped through his system, so unaccustomed to it.

Janus shrugs.

"I don't… I don't think I could make it there on my own. And I don't want to be seen like this. I'm staying, and as your superior, it's an order."

Vicente laughs. 

"Whatever is your desire, my lord."

Janus huffs and rolls over to his side again.

"But, I am tired too, and wish to sleep in my own bed. Is there room to spare?"

Janus feels his face flare with heat.

"Well, don't ask such a stupid question. Of course there is." He pats the covers, and Vicente grins. He lays down on the bed, and Janus grumbles and rolls over to face away from him.

"Sleep well, Janus."

Janus makes another noise of minor distaste, and Vicente laughs softly to himself. He gazes up at the wallpapered ceiling as he waits to fall asleep.

How strange that of all places, this would be where he was now. In bed with a count, as the court alchemist, and to be one of his trusted associates too.

Vicente supposes, even a friend.

A handsome friend.

Vicente feels his face heat up a touch- and suddenly all the layers of clothes he wears seem too hot. He carefully gets up, and takes off his coat and robe, letting them hang over the back of a chair. He's only in his breeches and chemise now, though he leaves his stockings on as he toes off his shoes. He wonders if Janus is going to sleep on his side all night, or if he'll eventually adjust himself later on. Most vampires didn't move in their sleep, and chose to sleep on their back to prevent a twisted muscle.

Vicente wonders if he should wake up Janus, but the dark circles around his eyes seem lighter, his whole face softened and demeanour relaxed. Vicente takes it in, his sharp cheekbones and stern brow, framing a sharp nose and full lips. He admires the Count's classic masculinity, how different it is to his own face.

He finds the Count very intriguing indeed, and as he lays back down besides him, he can't help but feel perfectly content with his lot.

  
  



	4. author's note

Hello everyone!

  
This is me informing you that during the winter holidays, and perhaps extending into late january, i will be rewriting all 3 chapters of this fic i have uploaded so far, What does this mean? For one, there'll be WAY more dialogue, description, and the word count might triple in size. I like to be thorough! Additionally, I'll be clearing up the timeline so it makes more sense, at least to me.

Hopefully, these changes will improve the quality of the story, and future chapters will be much more enjoyable and longer reads than before.

Thank you all and i hope you're all having a lovely winter <3

EDIT: forgot to mention, no new chapters will be uploaded until i have finished rewriting the first 3, and even then, i will probably post one large update in which you can read the rewritten chapters AND the 4th new chapter all in one go. i hope that makes sense!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is finally here! A bit short, but I hope it satisfies. I assure you, the slash will begin... soon. thanks everyone for reading and commenting! it really makes me happy to see it!  
> additionally, i wanted to offer up a lovely little fic that i read and was very honored to know my work has partially inspired it. it means so much to me! it may be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27093598.  
> you may also feel free to reach me at my twitter, @cairnbolg, where i post about vampires a whole lot. enjoy!  
> EDIT: The dialogue here when Rona wakes up is taken from the UESP page, with some alterations.

Janus and Vicente are at “dinner” when Rumendil returns.

Hal-Liurz comes to their table where they sit eating.

“Milords, Rumendil has returned from his task. He says that he has…  _ the remedy. _ ”

“Is this so?” Janus says, sitting up sharply in his seat.

Hal-Liurz nods.

Janus takes a deep breath out of habit. He rises from his seat, and gets up.

“Vicente…” he begins. “Vicente, I’ll ask you to come with me. This is not an order, but a request.  _ I need your strength,  _ he almost wants to add.

Vicente smiles up at him.

“Of course, milord.”

Together, they follow Hal-Liurz out of Janus’ parlor.

Janus is almost sick with anticipation as he walks through the halls, down the stairs. He’s floating on air, yet irrevocably shackled to the earth, feeling like he’s going to sink through the ground and be lost to time.

Vicente is watching him closely as he follows a pace behind. He can feel those intelligent, near reptilian eyes on his back.

He thinks about what Vicente said about him. About them.

Janus feels like he can’t have that, and Rona, at the same time.

Would he get rid of Vicente?

He doesn’t want to.

But he knows that when he looks at Vicente, he doesn’t see a friend, exactly.

He sees something else. Something that makes him feel ashamed.

Something that makes him think, how can I face Rona now?

Finally, they reach the room.

The Chamber of the Lost.

The room where Janus has entombed Rona for better or for worse.

He is familiar with this room. Every inch of it, every mote of dust coating its surfaces.

And the figure that lays sleeping in it. Rumendil is waiting next to the door, in his hands a bundle wrapped in cloth, oblong and obviously fragile.

The cure to the disease that has plagued Rona since she was so fair, in the prime of her life.

Janus can almost remember her, how could he not?

She was the thing he loved most in this world. The woman he so cherished, wanted to spend his life with.

And perhaps, selfishly, an eternity.

Now is not the time to be consumed with guilt.

At the entrance, the witch waits. She is a short, old woman, but there is a youthful look in and around her eyes, like a girl who holds the vigorous spark of life in her yet.

“Milady.”

“Ah! And you must be this Count Hassildor I’ve heard about. And I assume the good lady waits within, for the remedy to be administered.”

“Yes. My wife. I have waited a long time for this day to come.”

“I can only imagine. Do not worry, milord. She’ll be returned to you soon.”

Janus turns to Rumendil, who has been waiting nearby, silent.

“Count Hassildor.”

“Rumendil. It is good to see you come back unharmed.”

“Yes,” Rumendil says, smoothly. He unwraps the bundle, and in it, there is a delicate flask. Within the dark glass, Janus can make out a lightly shimmering potion.

Janus almost trembles.

“I see. Come, let us not waste any time.” He opens the chamber with a wave of his hand, and the heavy stone door slides open.

The group follows Janus down the staircase, and he closes the door behind them.

Waving his hand again, the fireplace and the candelabra are lit, and the room is filled with a warm glow.

Rona lays there, perfect and immobile as ever.

She looks just as she always does, her hair combed back, her face deathly pale and gaunt. Her hands are skeletal as they lay folded across her sunken stomach.

Janus’ heart aches.

She’ll be awake soon.

She’ll be here again, and he won’t ever let this happen again. He’ll be there for her, he’ll hold her above all else-

“Count Hassildor.”

“Yes. Yes, Melisande, do as you must.”

“She’ll only be awake for a short time. When she is awake, you must make her drink the potion. She’ll be cured then. When you’re ready, I’ll begin casting.”

Janus nods. Rumendil hands him the bottle, and Janus takes it in both hands.

”I’m ready.”

Melisande smiles, and she lifts her hands. They glow with a soft green light, and a rush of wind fills the chamber. Her silver hair flutters in the breeze, and Janus knows that whatever power he has, it’s meager compared to hers.

Rona comes alive with a shudder, and she spasms, weakened greatly. Janus rushes to her side.

“Rona, my dear. It’s time to wake up.”

Her lips are dry, cracked and peeling, and as she speaks, the skin around her mouth splits, bloodless.

“What? Janus…” she looks into his eyes, her own are milky and colorless, unlike the pale pink of Vicente’s or Rumendil’s dull ruby eyes. “Janus... please, no. Let me sleep.”

Janus shakes his head, and she closes her eyes, something like pain written across her face.

“Please, let me sleep.”

“It’s alright… it’s alright. I’ve come to give you peace at last.”

Rona’s pale brows knit together, and her paper thin skin seems to draw so tight over her fine boned face that it seems in danger of tearing.

“I can… rest? Truly?”

Janus smiles, but it’s pained. His heart is in danger of shattering, just being able to speak to her again. He gently strokes her hair, and uncorks the potion.

“Yes, my dear. Just drink this, and it will all be better.”

Rona’s lips part, and Janus helps prop her up on her silk cushions. She swallows air like a fish, her arms too weak to even lift from their place at her sides. Janus raises the flask to her lips, and she tilts her head back to drink the potion as he pours it into her mouth.

Almost immediately, Janus can sense a change take place. He can feel the sluggish, irregular pace of her dried veins turn into a regular beat, and her lungs rise and fall normally. Her eyes turn bright, the warm brown he knew so well. Her brows darken, if only a little bit, and her hair softens around her face.

She takes a deep, faltering breath, as if someone who hasn’t breathed in so long had forgotten what it was like.

Her voice comes out light and airy, and Janus smiles, almost laughing in relief and disbelief.

“Oh, Janus.” She smiles at him, weakly. She lifts her arms, and drapes them around his neck as he holds her closer to him. 

“Thank you…” She breathes out.

“Rona,” Janus starts.

“Thank you for saving me.” She leans in, and kisses his cheek.

It’s feather light, and feels like the wings of a moth beating against his skin.

But her lips are warm, no matter how weak they are.

Janus is about to return the kiss, when suddenly, she goes limp.

“Rona?”

He pulls back, holding her securely still, but the smile falls from his face.

“Rona,” he says, softly, before he realizes she’s gone perfectly, incredibly still.

“My wife… my beautiful wife.” He brushes her hair back from her brow, and gently sets her down on her covers. In death, she looks every bit the woman she was before she was turned.

Rumendil steps close to him. “Count Hassildor-“

“Now is not the time for words,” Janus says, thickly. He can feel his eyes prickle with tears, a feeling he has not felt in decades.

_ Can vampires cry? _

_ Rarely, Vicente had said. I have not cried in all four centuries of my existence. Have you? _

“Give me a day’s time to… to set her affairs in order. Speak with Hal-Liurz tomorrow. Please. Leave me to my grief.”

Rumendil leaves without a word. Nearby, Melisande watches quietly. Unshed tears sparkle in her eyes, and she lifts her apron to her eyes to wipe them away.

Vicente stands behind her, his eyes wide, dry as ever. His mouth is set in a straight line, and his face is expressionless, blank.

Vicente leaves without a word, following Hal-Liurz out of the chamber.

Melisande looks back, then looks again to Janus as he sits hunched over Rona’s body.

“Milord, I’m sorry.”

“It… It’s what she would’ve wanted.”

Melisande gazes upon them, and nods. She sniffs slightly.

“Yes, I… I wish you the best, Count Hassildor. May she find rest.” She too, leaves.

Janus is left alone in the chamber with Rona’s corpse.

He isn’t sure what to say to her. Anything he wants to say, she will never answer to. Not unlike all those years where she lay perfectly still.

He puts her head down on her fragile rib cage.

And with a great, breaking pain in his chest, he begins to cry, quietly, and alone.


End file.
